


A Simple Exchange of Services

by SemperIntrepida



Series: Elegiad [8]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Playthrough, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, a slight divergence from canon but we'll get to the same place in the end, sex without feelings, swords and conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21763867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperIntrepida/pseuds/SemperIntrepida
Summary: In which Kassandra steals a man from Athens to score an invitation to a party, and finds that the Athenian idea of a party isn't quite what she expected.
Series: Elegiad [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531004
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	A Simple Exchange of Services

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is part of a linked series of stories, and while you don't have to read them all, they do combine into a unified narrative.

A moonless night over Athens: dust in the warm air, and the cloying scent of hyacinth on a teasing hint of breeze. The city's watch stood guard at their posts. Kassandra had observed the sculptor's workshop from a nearby rooftop for nearly three hours, waiting for her plans to converge.

The sculptor was confined to his workshop by a single guard posted at its door — odd security for a man about to undergo a trial that could result in a death sentence. Maybe these Athenians were used to meekly accepting their own deaths instead of trying to flee for their lives. Did they offer to help sharpen the blades of their executioners, too? Whatever the reason, the lax security served to help her now.

She climbed down from the roof, and brushed the tile dust off of her chiton and the chlamys wrapped about her shoulders and body. She'd left her armor back on the Adrestia, and the Spear of Leonidas was the only weapon she carried, hidden in its sheath underneath her wrap.

She walked around the corner and onto the road that passed the workshop, keeping her hips loose and her steps short, hoping her silhouette read more woman than warrior.

The guard held up his hand. "Stop! I can't let you go any further."

"Please, I must see Phidias. It's important."

"So is keeping people out. Maybe you can see him after his trial — if the people spare his life."

"It's been so long since Phidias and I have... _seen_ each other. You understand, don't you?"

"Well, well..." he chuckled. "Phidias has a thing for farm girls, eh? Come to pay him a last visit before the trial? He's as good as dead, you know. Better make this one count."

Kassandra felt a twinge in her blade hand but let it pass. "Just don't tell anyone I was here," she said, glancing around.

"Sure, sure. And make it quick."

The guard stood aside and let her into the workshop, closing the solid wooden doors behind her. The interior was large and open, with high ceilings and ample floorspace. Huge blocks of marble and wood sat on the floor awaiting the sculptor's hand. In the torchlight, the marble seemed to glow from within, and the pallets of wood threw sharp shadows against the walls. She breathed in, smelling stone dust and wood shavings. The sound of a wooden mallet striking a chisel bounced among the marble blocks, and a figure stood in the loft that ran along the back wall of the workshop. She pulled the torch off the wall next to the entrance doors and extinguished it, then put out every torch she passed as she made her way to the ladder that led up to the loft.

She climbed out of the darkness. A man stood in the corner, busy hewing chunks out of a marble block with the mallet and chisel by the light of a lamp, so absorbed in his work that he didn't hear her footsteps behind him.

She cleared her throat, and he whirled around in surprise, dropping his tools. The floor vibrated with the thump of the mallet's landing.

His eyes moved wildly. "How did you get past the guard? No one gets past the guard."

"Relax. Perikles sent me."

"Praise Athena, I knew he'd send help. I was worried _they_ sent someone after me."

 _They?_ "I'm here to get you out of Athens."

"So he knows about the plot."

"You mean the trial? From what I've seen, you don't stand a chance."

"Bah! The people love me. I am _the_ Phidias! But there are others in the darkness. Look." He picked up a scroll that sat on the table that held his tools, but hesitated before handing it over.

"Give it here," she said, taking it from his hand. She unrolled it and began reading.

"You know how to read."

She had no idea what he was getting at. "Yes, and?"

"You must be Spartan, but you're not like any Spartan I've ever met."

She ignored him and focused on the scroll. The handwriting was nervous and shaky, despite the threatening words within:

 _D,_  
_Sharpen your knives._  
_The sculptor Phidias must be killed._  
_If he dies messy, it will make them fear us even more._

The Cult. "It isn't the trial that Perikles is saving you from," she said. "These are instructions to murder you. Who wrote this?"

"I don't know! I'm just an artist. I just want to create. Please, what am I to do?"

"First, you need to pull yourself together. You've got big problems."

Phidias began to panic, waving his arms as he paced back and forth.

She grabbed his shoulder and shook it hard. "I said, pull yourself together."

He cowered under her grasp. "Yes, of course."

"Now—" She was cut off by the sound of the entrance doors creaking open.

"The guard!" Phidias whispered.

She blew out the oil lamp on the table and the loft went dark. "Listen carefully," she said in a low voice. "Sneak out that window on the back wall. Go to the Temple of Asklepios in Piraeus. Look for a blind beggar named Eteocles and follow him to safety. Got it?"

"Yes, yes."

"Good. Now go while I deal with the guard." She crouched at the edge of the loft while Phidias made for the window.

Then she heard the voice of the guard she'd spoken to earlier. "You didn't really think I'd let you come and go as you pleased, did you? Now, where are you?"

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she held her breath and listened. Two sets of footsteps on the floor below, one light and one heavy. She could not see them as much as she could sense them, for with the moon hidden, the only light that entered the workshop was a faint glow from the entrance doors.

The heavy one's footsteps plodded closer. She unclasped her chlamys and let it fall from her shoulders, then reached back and silently drew her spear. It was strange to feel leather wrapped around its handle where there had once been only roughened wood. The Ancient Forge on Andros had taken the spear and improved it, and only the gods knew the nature of the magic that had made that happen.

When she heard the heavy one pass directly beneath her, she leapt from the edge of the loft upon him, using his body to break her fall as her shins slammed into his bull-like shoulders. She drove the spear into what she hoped was the back of his neck, and felt her blade slicing between bone.

"What the fuck?! Gaios?" The first guard's voice again, his bravado gone. It came from somewhere between her and the workshop entrance.

Her spear hand was slick with blood, and every sense grew more acute as she slipped into the blood craving. A slight chill wafted out of the darkness to her immediate left. Cold marble. She reached out with her off hand until she touched the stone, then ran her fingers over it as a guide as she crept forward.

Fumbling noises in front of her, someone rummaging in their belt. She followed the sound. It was too dark to tell which direction the guard was facing, until he struck a spark from a flint, and in its brief flash of light saw him standing with his back to her. She slipped behind him and punched the spear through his cuirass right between his shoulder blades. He fell in a heap, breathing his last as she wiped her bloody hands and spear on his tunic. Hopefully Perikles wouldn't hold the deaths of the two guards against her too badly.

Kassandra stowed her spear and peered out the workshop door. A few travelers on the road, but no guards or watchmen. Even at night, Athens was far noisier than any place she'd ever been, and with the cacophony of people talking and singing, the bleating of livestock, and the ringing of hoofbeats, it was doubtful anyone passing by the workshop had any idea of what had just gone on inside.

She stepped out into the cooling air and strolled around to the rear of the workshop. No sign of Phidias, which was promising. She set off for the port, keeping an eye out as she retraced the path he likely would have taken. If he was smart enough to follow her instructions, he would have found Barnabas disguised as a beggar on the steps of the temple, waiting to escort him to the Adrestia.

She searched the sky for the stars of the always-turning wagon, and noted how far its position had changed since she'd arrived at the workshop. She lengthened her stride and picked up her pace. Time was wasting.

.oOo.

The Adrestia sat by the dock, her crew busily at work in stark contrast with the silent and empty ships nearby. Barnabas paced the deck, giving orders and assisting with the work.

She greeted him when she reached the top of the gangplank.

"Captain on deck!" he shouted, changing his course to meet her. "All right lads, prepare to make way."

"Phidias make it aboard?" she asked.

"Aye, Captain. He's back near the helm." Barnabas looked her up and down. "I take it everything went well?"

"None of the blood's mine," she said, walking with him back to the stern. The deck rocked from side to side as the crew pushed the ship away from the dock.

Phidias jumped to his feet at their approach. "Thank you for rescuing me, Kassandra."

"Don't thank me yet," she said, waving him off. They still had a long way to go. "Where should I take you from here?"

"Seriphos. My friend Theras lives there. When I discovered the plot against me, I sent word to him. If anyone can help us, he can."

"Good."

Barnabas clapped Phidias on the shoulder. "Are you ready to pretend to be one of my crew?"

The sculptor chuckled nervously.

Kassandra furrowed her brows, remembering how easily he'd panicked back in the workshop. "We have to sneak past that blockade, Barnabas. He doesn't have the nerve to pass an inspection if we're stopped."

"Hey, I'm standing right here!" Phidias said.

She stared at him. "Well, do you?"

He ducked his head. "No, I don't. I'm already terrified just standing here... But I'll do whatever you ask, Eagle Bearer." He must have been talking to Barnabas to have learned that nickname.

"We'll try our best, Captain," Barnabas said. "It's a good thing Artemis stayed home this evening." Then he took up his station at the steering oars.

Far ahead, the Athenian ships were scattered across the exit to the breakwater, the lights on their masts glittering in the darkness. The walls of the breakwater were lit by torches here and there, but only enough to guess at its outline — no sane captain sailed at night. Kassandra hoped to turn that to their advantage.

She heard footsteps climbing the stairs to the helm, and turned to see Gelon reporting in from belowdecks. "The oarsmen are ready, Captain."

"Have the men extinguish all the lights, Gelon. We're not stopping for that blockade. Sails to full once we pass."

There was a pause, then Gelon said, "You ballsy fucker. You're actually going to try to slip by them."

"That's the plan."

"I'll tell the boys to row _quietly_."

One by one, the crewmen snuffed out the lights hanging on the masts and the braziers fore and aft. Kassandra looked over waters so dark they could have been scooped out from the Underworld. The pinpoints of light dispersed across the other ships and the far shore gave her a rough outline of their surroundings, but the dark spaces in between were a mystery. Every so often, some part of the rigging would clank against the mast, but the breeze was blowing enough that she had to strain to hear the creaking of the oarlocks and the slap of oar blades hitting the water.

Once they reached the entrance to the breakwater, Barnabas kept them away from the rocky shallows and on course down the center of the channel. The blockade ships were jewels on a necklace that stretched from the tip of the peninsula to the island of Salamis. As they exited the channel, Barnabas steered hard to the right, the deck tilting under Kassandra's feet as Phidias let out a frightened moan.

She could see the gap Barnabas was aiming for: a patch of darkness between two massive triremes. The oarsmen slowed their cadence, and Barnabas made adjustments to their course as the currents shifted.

The lamp-lit decks of the Athenian triremes seemed to hover over their dark hulls, their reflections bobbing in the waves. She could only hope there was enough distance between the two ships for a smaller ship like the Adrestia to pass without silhouetting itself against the reflected light.

No one on the Adrestia spoke. Oars dipped into ink-dark water. The blockade line came closer and closer. She could hear the laughter of the Athenian crewmen echoing across the waves.

Then the Adrestia was inside the blockade, between the triremes, Barnabas's course placing them neatly in the middle. Kassandra found she was holding her breath.

They glided on. The Athenian ships remained in their nighttime calm. She watched them pass, Chronos playing tricks of time upon her as he stretched the moment longer and longer, until she found herself needing to turn her neck and look backwards to see them, and the deck lurched as the oarsmen began to row faster. They were clear.

"We made it," Phidias murmured in wonder.

Kassandra watched the Athenian ships grow smaller with every sweep of the oars, and soon they returned to being mere jewels of light in the distance. She heard Gelon shouting for the lamps and braziers to be relit, and for the men to unfurl the sails.

"That was a fine piece of helm work, Barnabas," she said.

"I've still got something left in these old sea legs."

"Think we can make it to Seriphos tonight?"

"Aye, but the crew won't like it. They'll be rowing all night."

Phidias spoke up. "I would be happy to provide them a bonus for their troubles."

Kassandra's estimation of him went up. "That's appreciated," she said. "And they can have an extra day of rest when we reach port. We've still got time before the symposium."

All this work just to earn an invitation from Perikles to attend some party. For all of Herodotos's lofty descriptions of Athens, it turned out the city was no better than anywhere else — everything came at a price.

And rescuing Phidias was only one favor among many.

.oOo.

Kassandra leaned against the Adrestia's railing, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun on her skin as she watched the waves sweep across the bay. Seriphos had proven a pleasant place for a layover, with good weather and a fresh sea breeze that blew across the island. Most of the crew was off enjoying themselves in port, but she could hear Gelon bickering with Barnabas over their preparations for departure tomorrow. She knew how their argument would go: Gelon would curse up a storm, Barnabas would let her irritation roll off him like water off a gull's back, and then Gelon would do as she'd been ordered to do. She'd proven to be a good first mate despite all the complaining.

Phidias had made it safely to his friend Theras's estate in the outskirts of the chora. Not only was Theras able to shelter the sculptor, he provided Kassandra documents that revealed the identity of another member of the Cult: Brison, a wastrel of a man who hid in his family's quarry on Salamis while he plotted to end Phidias's life.

She'd filed that tidbit along with the rest of the documents she'd stolen from the cultists' hidden chamber in Delphi, waiting for the day they'd prove their worth.

She spent the rest of the morning napping in the shade under a palm tree, and after that she'd taken some time to clean her gear. She still marveled at what the Ancient Forge had done to her spear. What had once been a splintered wooden shaft had transformed into a long, leather-wrapped handle with silver fittings, and where rusty pockmarks had once covered the blade, it was now smooth, polished steel, sharper than ever. She'd figured out that the cultists' fragments of the Artifact could be used to power the Forge, and if this was the result she could expect in exchange, she'd consider it a fair trade.

What hadn't been a fair trade was her subsequent conversation with Alexi— Deimos. Saying that name was painful, like biting her own tongue. The Cult had literally renamed him after the god of terror, and she would have rolled her eyes if he hadn't been so fucking unhinged. He'd bounced between being charming, sarcastic, and menacing, and he'd slapped her for suggesting they join forces to find their mother.

The slap had hurt in the moment, but what kept her awake during the nights that followed was that he'd struck her so swiftly she couldn't possibly have dodged the blow, and even at a fraction of his strength it knocked her back a step. She had no hope of defeating him in single combat.

She stared at the waves, her mood turning dark. She was only alive now because Deimos allowed it. How long did she really have before he changed his mind?

The railing creaked under her grip, and she forced herself to breathe, to think in steps.

Go to the symposium. Figure out which guests could help her. Her path laid out in a nice, simple plan.

She needed the lie of it, needed something to cling to. If monsters lurked in the dark, she'd focus on the light of a lamp.

.oOo.

On the evening of the symposium, Kassandra arrived at Perikles's home at the agreed upon time and found Phoibe of all people waiting to meet her.

"Kassandra! It's you!" Phoibe said, running towards her.

Kassandra dropped to her knees and gathered Phoibe into her arms. "Phoibe!"

"You promised we'd see each other again, and now we have!"

They hugged, then Kassandra held her out at arm's length. Phoibe looked healthy and well fed, and her tunic was spotlessly clean, decorated with embroidered knotwork patterns around its edges. Seeing her here didn't feel real. "I can't believe you're here."

"Me either. I can't believe we both made it to Athens. It's _so_ much different than Kephallonia."

She was certainly right about that. "But what are you doing here?"

Phoibe straightened, remembering her duties. "I'm here to get you ready. Come with me," she said. She led Kassandra to a small room away from the entryway, furnished with low shelves of polished wood and a few short benches for seating. Thick wool rugs covered the floor and the air smelled of flowers. Phoibe gestured at Kassandra's sword. "I'm supposed to make sure you leave all your weapons and change into different clothes."

"So you work for Perikles?"

"No, for Aspasia."

Perikles's consort? _That_ Aspasia? "How did that happen?"

"Well... I did get into a little bit of trouble after I got to Athens. I may have taken over a small gang of orphans and tried to cheat Aspasia out of a bale of silk."

"'May have taken over', huh?" Kassandra felt more than a little pride at Phoibe's resourcefulness, even though she'd gotten caught. "And you... convinced her to hire you?"

"No, she asked me on her own."

"That was lucky."

Phoibe walked across the room to a set of shelves. A bag rested on top of it, soft and pillowed. She picked it up and handed it to Kassandra. "Change into these."

Kassandra peeked inside the bag. The fabric she saw there looked awfully _feminine_. "I don't understand why I have to."

"It's just what you do here. I felt weird at first, but you forget about it pretty fast."

"And my weapons?"

"I'll take care of them. You don't want to scare people in there, do you?"

If they didn't give Kassandra what she wanted, she absolutely wanted to scare them. "I don't see what's wrong with what I'm wearing."

"The Athenians like it best when you try to fit in. You in that armor is definitely not fitting in."

It seemed Phoibe had changed in the several months since they'd seen each other, and Kassandra wondered if she herself had changed also. Maybe she had, for there was a time in the past where there was no chance in Hades she'd ever wear a lady's finery. She sighed in defeat. "I'll get changed," she said, taking the bundle from Phoibe. "Promise you'll take care of my things?"

"I promise. Just leave them over there. I'll come back to get you in a little while."

Kassandra set the bag down on a nearby bench and unclasped the crimson shawl she wore over her shoulders. She took off her armor, setting the breastplate, bracers, and greaves on the floor before pulling her tunic up and over her head. She draped it over the bench, then opened the bag and pulled out a dress.

The dress was made from the most expensive linen she'd ever held, dyed the same shade of crimson as the shawl she wore over her armor. She stepped into the dress, snugged its fabric over her hips, and found that it clasped at one shoulder with a golden medallion similar to the one she used for her shawl. Someone had been paying attention to her details. The last item left in the bag was a shorter length of fabric that moved like liquid. It was silk, dyed in a delicate cream, and she picked it up carefully with two fingers. She ran it through her hands, charmed by its softness, careful not to let it snag on her calloused skin. It wasn't immediately clear what she was supposed to do with it, however, so she wrapped it around her waist and tied off its ends in a loose knot.

A polished copper mirror hung on the wall, and her curiosity got the best of her even though she already knew what she'd see: a scarred body in a rich woman's clothes, none of it "fitting in."

She saw the scar where a pirate's blade had opened up her left shoulder, and also the three-pronged scar on her right arm, its ropy welts stark against her skin. She'd been lucky she hadn't lost use of the arm entirely after that one. And then there were the scars on her face, on her chin, brow, and the bridge of her nose among all the others. She knew from intimate experience how easily skin splits from a blow over bone.

She lived in the face and body she had earned, and no amount of fine linen and silk could hide that.

Then Phoibe returned to the room, and Kassandra was grateful for the interruption. She turned away from the mirror, fussing with the drape of the dress as Phoibe led her back to the main hallway. "I feel... uncomfortable in this," she said.

"Now you look like everyone else."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"It is. If you want Athenians to take you seriously, this is the easiest way. Trust me."

They'd reached the entrance to the atrium. By the sound of it, the party was well under way, with musicians playing a lyre and drums as the air vibrated with the conversations of a room full of people. "Do I need anything else?" Kassandra asked.

Phoibe reached up and patted her arm. "You're all set. Don't worry, you've done scarier things than this."

"I'm struggling to think of any right now," Kassandra said. "Are you sure I can't keep just _one_ weapon with me?"

Phoibe wagged a finger. "No weapons! Now hurry and go in!"

Kassandra took a deep breath, and did what she was told.

.oOo.

It turned out the Athenian idea of a party was a bunch of men talking at each other. Too bad it wasn't winter — the amount of hot air being emitted could have warmed the entire city of Athens. Kassandra was the only woman in attendance who wasn't a servant. The Athenians left their women uneducated and hid them behind the walls of their homes, and if that was freedom and democracy, they could keep it to themselves.

Herodotos had intercepted her as soon as she'd arrived, and he'd given her the lay of the land, pointing out which guests might be able to help her and which ones would only waste her time. She appreciated his guidance, as every guest here appeared equally boring, with the exception of the man known as Alkibiades, whose naked entrance to the party had caused quite the scene.

Eyes watched her wherever she went, some curious, some unfriendly. Weaponless and out of place, her hackles raised under the constant scrutiny, and it was a struggle to keep her hands from balling into fists.

She drifted among the guests, playing whatever role they assumed of her, in turns a servant, an Olympic athlete, a courtesan. It comforted these men to have their assumptions confirmed, and their casual dismissal of her worth had first stung, then settled into a slow, simmering anger.

Anywhere else, and she would have already started busting in some heads.

If her restraint had earned her anything, it was the frequent mention of two names — the Argive playwright Euripides and the politician Alkibiades — as two men worldly enough to know where a mother might have sought help for an injured baby. Alkibiades was nowhere to be seen, but Euripides stood in a corner in close conversation with another man.

She stepped into the path of a passing servant and relieved her of her jug of wine with an apologetic bow, then walked up to Euripides and his scrawny companion, holding up the jug as an introduction. "You two look like you could use some wine."

The scrawny one turned to Euripides. "It offers us a drink. What do you say, friend?"

Euripides stayed silent, but his eyes studied Kassandra with interest.

Kassandra imagined using her spear to carve open the scrawny man's throat. "Did you just call me 'it'? Watch your mouth, Athenian."

He laughed. "This foreigner's a feisty one. Very well, if you're not an it, what are you called, then?"

"Kassandra."

"I am Aristophanes, and my silent friend here is Euripides. Go on, introduce yourself." He nudged the burly man with his elbow.

"I'm Euripides."

He was clearly a man of few words, something Kassandra could appreciate after spending much of her evening listening to inane prattle. Still, she needed him to talk, and hoped wine would be the key that unlocked his tongue. "For a playwright, you're not much for words."

"'Good men lead quiet lives,' as old Euripides likes to say. Don't you, Euripides?"

Euripides said nothing.

"Quickly, pour him some wine so that he might say something clever!"

Kassandra raised the jug. "I'm here to serve."

That made Euripides speak up. "And those are wine-pouring muscles of yours?"

"For you, yes. In other times..." she trailed off, letting them make their own conclusions. "Let's conjure Dionysos, shall we?" she said, filling both their cups to the brim.

They drank, and Aristophanes warded off any silence by talking enough for the three of them. Five cups in and no one noticed that Kassandra had only had one cup of her own. Eight cups in and Aristophanes was turning to vomit into a decorative urn in the corner.

Euripides swayed from side to side and pointed at Kassandra. "You... I like you. Who brought you here?"

"I brought myself. I'm searching for a woman who fled Sparta a long time ago."

"Fled? Why?"

"She lost two children to treachery. She had no choice."

Aristophanes grabbed Euripides by the shoulder. "She fled to heal her broken heart. Euripides, write her into a play."

Euripides thought for a moment. "In times of trouble, mothers go to a sanctuary in Argolis to beg Asklepios for his divine pity. I should know — it's my home."

"After what she went through, I'm not sure she'd trust priests."

"Then she sought my friend Hippokrates of Argos. He's a physician, not a priest. If she went to him for help, there's no doubt he'd have given it."

She thanked him, then excused herself by waving the near-empty wine jug. Aristophanes burst into drunken song behind her. Many of the other guests were in a similar state, having enjoyed cup after cup of their host's generosity. The three cups she'd had so far had made her looser in her joints, but her anger still simmered and she'd grown tired of all the stares. The sooner she found Akibiades, the sooner she could talk to Perikles and leave.

She followed the path Alkibiades had taken after his grand entrance, entering a hallway along the back length of the house. A man sat on the floor, mumbling to himself, his tunic stained with wine.

"Where's Alkibiades?" she asked.

The man pointed a wobbly finger towards a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

As she approached, she heard a woman shriek, and then the sound of breaking pottery. Before she could stop herself, she ran up to the doors and pounded her fist against the wood. "Open this door, or I'll kick it in!"

The doors flew open, and Alkibiades stood in the doorway, still naked, appearing utterly unconcerned about the noise that had escaped his chambers. As they stood there staring at each other, a goat appeared behind him, then wandered past them into the hallway.

"Don't mind her," he said, nodding at the goat. "She likes to watch." Then his attention returned to Kassandra. "Look at you," he said, circling her like a piece of art. "Such authority, such aggression. I can see why Perikles has taken such an interest in you. Did you come to join us?"

"I thought I heard someone being attacked." She tried very hard not to think about the goat or its implications.

"Pleasure... and pain... can sound so similar. Tell me, warrior, do you prefer one above the other?"

"I'm only here for information."

"So you're here just to use me? How exciting. Had I known _you_ were going to stop by, I would have left my door wide, wide open."

"I'm trying to find a woman—"

"Aren't we all?" he mused. "Maybe she's in here?" He looked inside his chambers.

"I doubt it."

"I think I'll check all the same." He stepped back and began to close the doors.

She reached out and stopped them from shutting with her hands. "Wait."

He stared at her expectantly.

This party finally had a chance at being interesting. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back inside the chamber, letting the doors swing shut behind her.

In the candlelight, a naked man stood in the corner, frozen in mid-stroke, while two beautifully naked women lounged in the center of an enormous bed. The air was heavy with sex and sweat. Clearly the four of them had been enjoying themselves for some time.

She'd entered the chamber without a plan, but the sight of the two women on the bed sent a jolt through her that ended deep in her belly. Alkibiades, to his credit, knew how to pick his partners. Both women could have been muses for Phidias's sculptures, and neither objected to her presence — or her intent, as she backed Alkibiades up against a bench at the foot of the bed and pushed him down so he sat upon it. She patted his cheek and said, " _You_ get to watch," her tone allowing no argument. Then to the man in the corner: "Same goes to you."

She shed her uncomfortable clothes and her party guest role. She'd much rather be whatever these women needed. They traded glances, then slow smiles, and then they both reached for her and welcomed her in.

She kissed one, then the other, tasting them both before giving them a slow smile of appreciation. She touched them, stroking her fingers over skin as their heartbeats quickened, and she didn't rush to figure them out. They would tell her themselves in due time, and getting them to that place was the performance, woven together by her gaze, by her languid movements, by the way she divided her attention between them, capturing them with a touch, then letting them struggle within her net, and when their bodies began to beg in shudders and gasps, she set them free. They all went to different places, satisfied in their own ways.

Eventually, she untangled herself from the limbs wrapped around her and found Alkibiades watching her with a heavy-lidded gaze, his lips quirked in an indulgent smile. She slid onto the bench behind him and leaned forward, her breasts barely grazing his back as she whispered across his ear, "What did you say about being wide open for me?"

"I'm all yours."

"Then give me the information I want."

He turned around. "Keeping your eye on the prize, I see. I like that. Ask your question."

"If a Spartan woman needed to flee her homeland, where would she go?"

"Flee Sparta? No one flees Sparta!" he said in mock surprise, but then he grew serious as his mind dug into the question. "But, let's pretend she did. If she were stupid, she'd be dead. If she were smart, she'd do what Aspasia did — she'd earn her independence. The smartest and most... resourceful women I've ever met have been in Korinthia."

"You mean the hetaerae?"

"The ones in Korinth are courtesans unlike any other — a force of smarts and cunning. When you get there, find Anthousa. No one goes in or out of the city without her knowing."

"You've been very helpful." He hadn't been, but she needed allies in this city, and she sensed a sharp mind hidden behind his hedonism.

He grinned. "And you've been very entertaining."

"As has _this_ ," she said, gesturing towards the bed. "But I really—"

"—need to be going," he finished for her. "Of course. I'm sure you have a great deal of warrior business to attend to." He reached down and handed over her clothes from where they'd fallen on the floor.

She dressed, and he escorted her back to the room's entrance, opening it and letting her pass by.

"Until we meet again, mercenary," he said, winking. Then he shut the doors, leaving her in the hallway alone with her thoughts.

Her feet wandered. Sounds from the atrium told her the party had continued on, and would likely keep going until sunrise. When a servant passed carrying cups of wine, she took one and drank it, and when she found a bathroom, she went inside and poured a basin of clean, cold water and washed the women off her hands and skin until her fingers tingled from the chill.

Alkibiades had given her another name in another city and nothing more, and she filed _Anthousa of Korinth_ next to _Hippokrates of Argos_ in her mind. Could she convince them to help her? And would they even remember a Spartan woman from so long ago? The answers had to be yes. Hope was a living thing that needed to be nurtured and fed.

Her hopes would have to sustain themselves on the smallest of crumbs.


End file.
